Care
by Ravenspear
Summary: Crowley takes care of Castiel after the events of Point of No Return. Castiel takes advantage. Castiel/Crowley.


**Title:** Care**  
Characters/Pairing:** Castiel/Crowley  
**Warning:** Spoilers for SPN 5x18**  
Summary:** Crowley takes care of Castiel after the events of _Point of No Return_. Castiel takes advantage.

* * *

Castiel wakes to a mouth that feels like cotton, and a splitting headache. These two things makes him suspect he may be hung over again. But he doesn't _remember_ being drunk; in fact, the last thing he remembers is...

He sits up frantically, only to fall right down onto the bed again as his sense of gravity decides to take a vacation. Opening his eyes doesn't help, as all _that_ does is sending stabbing white light straight into his weak human brain.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice says, and even with his eyes pressed tightly closed, Castiel knows who it is.

"Crowley."

"Oh, good; you remember my name now," the demon says, and Castiel feels the mattress dip as Crowley sits down next to him. "Last time you were awake, you were delirious. And raving in Enochian. I do believe you called me Raziel a couple of times, which I must say I find _unspeakably _rude."

"How did you find me?" Castiel asks, trying to carefully open his eyes without suffering the previous stabbing sensation.

"_Find_ you?" Crowley replies, and sounds genuinely surprised, as far as Castiel can tell. "You collapsed practically on my doorstep three days ago, that silly sigil carved into your chest and running an _eighty _degree fever. I thought you must have aimed for here."

"I didn't aim for anything," Castiel says as he cracks his eyes open to look at Crowley. "The sigil doesn't _let _you aim."

Crowley smiles; that special smile he's sent Castiel a time or two over the last few months, and Castiel isn't sure what it's supposed to mean, but he's fairly sure he enjoys being smiled at like that. "Well, then I suppose it was providence that brought you here."

"I don't believe in providence anymore."

"Then I guess I'll have to believe for both of us," Crowley says absently as he puts a blessedly cool hand to Castiel's forehead. "Still running a fever, but it's not _quite _that bad anymore. How _did_ you manage to turn yourself into this much of a mess, angel?"

"I had to banish some of my brothers, so that Sam and Dean could rescue their brother Adam from Zachariah. It took... A lot out of me." He pauses. "And since you're sitting there so calmly, and I am still alive, I suppose Sam and Dean succeeded."

"You didn't think they would?"

"I don't believe in Dean Winchester anymore, either," Castiel replies, and the words taste bitter on his tongue.

Crowley looks like he wants to ask, but stays himself, and Castiel thanks him silently within the safety of his own thoughts.

"Where are we, anyway?" Castiel asks, and tries to look around the room. His vision is blurry, but he can make out a few pieces of furniture, and he's pretty sure those are mountains outside the window.

"Japan," Crowley says. "Up north. Less people, more mountains."

"Less chance at being found."

"That too," Crowley says and chuckles. The sound is warm, and makes something inside Castiel's chest flutter awkwardly, like a butterfly stretching its wings for the very first time. "Well, are you up for some tea?" the demon asks. "I've been feeding it to you for a couple of days now, and it would be nice if you could hold your own cup for once."

"Yes, I think I'd like some tea," Castiel replies, and glories in the cold of Crowley's touch as the demon helps him sit up, slow enough that the vertigo won't catch him again.

Crowley gets off the bed for a second, and picks up a tray with a teapot and a cup from the floor. "I hope you'll excuse me for not drinking it with you," he says as he resumes his place on Castiel's bedside, and busies himself with pouring the bright honey-yellow liquid into the cup. "I'm afraid it doesn't react well to my... less than savoury nature, shall we say," he continues, and shoots Castiel a smirk.

"It's angelsbreath tea, isn't it?" Castiel asks as the aroma reaches him, heavy and cloyingly sweet,

"Yes," Crowley replies as he puts the teapot away on the nightstand. "I know a woman who grows it, and she was only too happy to see someone get a use out of it." His mouth quirks into half a grin. "Though she probably _wouldn't _be if she knew that _someone _was an actual angel."

Crowley hands the cup over, and Castiel makes a point of letting his fingers rest against Crowley's for a moment longer than necessary.

Crowley doesn't seem to notice the gesture, though, and despite the glorious warmth of the sacred healing tea, Castiel can't help but frown lightly into his cup.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Crowley asks. "I think I brewed it right, but I couldn't really test it myself."

"There's nothing wrong with the tea," Castiel assures him. "The method of delivery could stand improvement, however," he continues as he locks gazes with the demon.

"Oh? And how would you want me to deliver it? Because I'm not ruining another shirt to your sputtering as I pour it down your throat."

"There are easier ways than that," Castiel says as he hands the cup back.

"Pray tell, then."

Castiel just _looks_ at him, and waits for Crowley to get it.

"..._Oh_," Crowley says once he figures it out, and Castiel feels a slight flush of pride at putting _Crowley_ at such a loss for words. "But I can't drink this," the demon says.

"Then don't swallow it," Castiel deadpans.

Crowley laughs then, an actual happy, _delighted _sound, and Castiel basks in it. "You are a cheeky little bugger aren't you, angel?"

"Are you going to let me drink my tea or aren't you?" Castiel replies and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Crowley rolls his eyes and takes a sip from the cup, and in the next moment his lips are against Castiel's; soft and cool, and they open at the insistence of Castiel's tongue, spilling the tea into the angel's mouth and down his throat as he swallows it down. Then Castiel kisses the taste of the angelsbreath tea out of Crowley's mouth, until all he can taste is Crowley himself, and doesn't stop until the demon pulls back.

"This is a terrible idea, angel," Crowley says and moves to get up.

Castiel grabs him before he can, however, and despite his weakened state, he is still inhumanly strong. "We were just having tea," he says.

Crowley smiles, and this time it's a mix of that special smile and sadness. "No, we weren't. And what we _were_ doing is a fundamentally _bad_ idea, for both of us."

"_Why?_"

"Because you don't need to Fall any faster than you already are, and I don't need to start believing in something that will end up not being real at all," Crowley says gently, and pries Castiel's fingers from his arm. "Please drink the rest of your tea," he adds, closing Castiel's fingers around the mug. Then he gets up, and places a soft, barely there kiss on Castiel's forehead. "Get better; you'll need to get back to your Winchesters if you're going to have any chance of stopping this whole apocalypse debacle."

Then Crowley leaves, and he's nearly through the door when Castiel feels like he can speak again. "If I ask you to come back with me when I'm well, will you let me kiss you again?"

Crowley stops, and turns his head slightly to the side so Castiel can see him smiling; barely, but definitely smiling. "Probably not."

"And if I come back here after the Apocalypse is over? To stay?"

"Then, I suppose, we'll see," Crowley says and disappears out the door.

Castiel sighs softly as he looks out the window. Crowley's house has a beautiful view, and Castiel finds he quite enjoys it; he probably wouldn't mind seeing it more often.

He brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip of his tea. The taste reminds him of Crowley and kissing and that unfolding in his chest like butterfly wings.

Faintly, he smiles. 

* * *

Good? Bad? Too fluffy? Concrit is _very _appreciated.


End file.
